Perfection
by CelestiaKnight
Summary: Perfection comes in many ways. For some, it shows in a beautiful flower, opening to the morning sun. For others, perfection is something to acquire, something to find and make their own. A certain dweller of the Mirror World understood this principle; and he is ready to do anything to be one with perfection; to steal one's life. One-Shot


He was dead.

Meta Knight was dead.

He lay at his feet, pale eyes wide open.

Dead. Deceased. Gone.

The fake one kneeled to look at him closer and took the remains of his shattered mask off; he couldn't tell what he was feeling right now. Meta Knight looked so…

Peaceful. Calm. Serene.

Like he had been waiting for this, for some odd reason he couldn't care less about.

But, the fake one didn't want to see this peaceful look; why was he so calm?!

He wanted fear! He wanted to spread fear, to spread dismay and hatred!

He came here wanting to experience it, once and for all, he came here to see Meta Knight's fear rise and hit him in the face!

He had faced and defeated him in combat, he had planted his sword straight through his guts!

He wanted to see that fear plastered on this beautiful face!

He had done everything right and he had killed him!

Then why?! Why was he so serene?!

His hands clenched on that perfect face, on those perfect, round and pink cheeks, and his lone eye glowed with resentment as his fists grasped that smooth, silky, soft skin.

"I…"

Why?! Was he?! So calm?! Wake up!

"I…"

Wake up and show your fear! Wake up, you lazy, perfect piece of blue shit!

"I… hate it…"

He clenched those cheeks, and punched once with all his might.

Twice. Thrice.

With all his rage.

With all the pain.

Again, again, and again, until those cheeks weren't perfect, until the pink was red and until they were swolen like giant, squishy clumps of flesh.

The body was getting colder, but it mattered not.

He punched left and right, left and right, screaming nonsensical words and sounds, left and right, yelling at this still perfectly round face, left and right and right and left, and _it still looked perfect._

Why?! Stop being perfect!

Stop being you!

So he wouldn't see this perfect face anymore, he stopped thinking, he stopped living, and took a bite out of it; his teeth sank deeply in this still fresh flesh, as smoothly as a knife through hot butter, and as he tore it out with a grunt, the satisfying ripping of his flesh made him smile; blood warmer than he expected began to drip down his chin and on his chest, pooling at his feet.

The bitter and awful and delicious taste of iron filled his mouth, but still he lunged down again and ate at this face.

Whenever his teeth came in contact with that sweet, smooth, blue skin, shivers ran up his spine and sent jolts of lightning through his brain, blinding him so that he could only bite more, taste more, _take_ more.

Perhaps if he consumed enough of that perfect face, of that perfect everything, he could _be_ perfect himself.

Yes! Perfection for a perfect soul! Of course!

He straightened up, face covered in the other one's blood and eyes frantically looking down at what remained of this face; it still didn't feel enough…

He could still picture it; his face, his gaze, looking at him, telling him he'd never be better than him, telling him how futile his efforts were, telling him… how peaceful he was.

Peaceful.

Serene.

No.

No

No no no no no

NONONONONONONONO

NO HE WAS NOT PERFECT

NOTHING WAS BUT _HIM_ AND _HIM_ ALONE

Plunging down at his nemesis' corpse hungrily, he tore at everything he could reach.

Pulling nerves, tearing flesh, slipping in blood-

Popping an eye, another, squashing it, feeling its juices between his fingers, how delightful!

He took hold of an arm, put his foot against his dismantled body and pulled as hard as he could; it came off so easily, like he was but a broken puppet he could disassemble and reassemble as he wished.

He tore the other one off, threw it as far as he could, and watched it hit the closest wall, leaving a clear splat of blood on its surface along with a satisfying sound.

 _Splurt_!

Aah, that stain was almost shaped like a heart. How lovely!

But the armless body beneath him was all but imperfect; it wasn't _enough!_

Again, he dove, and went to drown in this perfection, ready to make it his own, ready to fuse with it and become _one_ once and for all.

He rolled into it-

He lay into it-

Waving his arms, reaching to as much things as he could-

Organs, stardust, clusters of nerves-

Brain, stars, nebulas-

Blood, galaxies, life-

Perfection!

Aah! So perfect!

This feeling!

This was it!

He knew it!

This warmth, in his gut, taking over him, this jolt, this bolt, as he lay, unrecognizable mess of what he once was, in this equally unrecognizable mesh of flesh and blood.

This orgasmic feeling was a sign, yes, yes, a sign, he was near perfection!

But… more! There was more, he knew it, he wasn't near close to what he truly desired.

Rolling on his back in this pool of blood and remains, he took the bones in his shaky hands and broke them before eating the marrow inside, licking the blood off of every bone until its surface shone a dirty white, like the mindless mutt that he had become.

Above him, a light, on the ceiling, shining down on him and his madness.

He had hated this man for as long as he remembered.

He had envied this man for as long as he remembered.

He had wanted this man's life for as long as he remembered.

And now that he had consumed him…

It felt like he _was_ this man.

He had never loved this man more than now.

But only… halfway.

There was only one thing left…

One thing to really make this pure and make them one…

He rolled again on his side, but when he put his hand on the floor to stand back up, he felt faint and fell face first into the remains, unable to move as the blood pooled and shaped around his form.

So… shaky…

So… afraid…

Such… dread…

Was this… what he had felt? Before dying at his hand? Had he not been peaceful?

Or had it been another one of his many masks?

Had he hidden a fear… deep inside…?

Like him…?

He reached out; the last piece was right there, in the middle of the rib cage.

His heart.

Their heart.

So squishy, so warm still, like it had been beating a few seconds ago, even though it felt like hours had passed since it had stopped.

He brought it to his trembling lips and took a taste; _this… this was perfection._

Eyes rolling backward, he moaned aloud as he ate away at this heart, at this life, at those memories, at everything that he was and everything that he had ever been.

His teeth couldn't stop, not until there was nothing more to bite into, not until there was nothing more to chew, and not until there was nothing more to consume and fuse with.

Not until he hadn't stolen this life in its entirety.

When he finally swallowed, and he had nothing more to eat, he kneeled there, eyes rolled back, completely immobile and calm.

He felt… peaceful…

Inside… a Universe was born.

Memories appeared.

Names, places, events.

Hate became love; wrong became right.

Oh, how perfect it felt to _be_ perfect-

So perfect, so right, he just began to cry-

Tears of joy rolled on his cheeks, clearing trails through rivers of blood-

Wails of pain and happiness, breaking through his detuned throat-

He cried and cried-

Because this was the death and the healing-

Because he was reborn-

He had taken his last breath-

And he was crying his birth-

How wonderful-

Life was-

Life _is_ wonderful.

A knock on the door.

"S… Sir Meta Knight? Is everything alright?"

He opened his eyes; golden and bright, new and perfect.

He smiled his first smile and spoke his first words.

"I am fine."


End file.
